


Hetalia Madness

by Kuramichan



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: America Does What He Wants, Brotherly Love, Germany is Holy Roman Empire, M/M, Oh shit this got serious, Red String of Fate, Romano is angry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2018-11-16 15:11:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11255505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuramichan/pseuds/Kuramichan
Summary: In which I write random scenes about my childre- uh I mean, Hetalia characters. Each chapter will be a collection of scenes for specific duos (in order of relationship tags).





	1. UsUk

**Author's Note:**

> I do this for my sanity... probably.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America is a little shit okay but I love him.

JEALOUSY

The three countries lounged about in the living room. Romano laid sprawled out on the couch while America and Canada leaned back against it from their chosen place on the floor. It was not uncommon to find this trio having a lazy conversation in the afternoon of slow days. A strange friendship had found its way to them, especially considering America's first introduction of his loud, angry friend to the soft-spoken and shy Canadian, but somehow they got along very well. They weren’t entirely sure how the current topic of conversation had arisen, but not a single one of them questioned it for very long. 

“That bastard Spain would hug and kiss me every chance he got when I lived with him.” Romano spat, hand lazily running through America’s hair. “And then I’d punch him until he let go. Why does he have to be so weird?” Canada tilted his head back to offer the Italian a reassuring smile. 

“For the short while France was raising me, he gave kisses all the time. He said it’s part of being French and is a natural way to show love. Although I-I didn’t question it back then, it’s a little embarrassing to admit now.” As he spoke, Canada’s cheeks were dusted a light shade of red. America blinked with curiosity. 

“Huh, now that you guys mention it, England’s never kissed me before. Not even when I was little. Isn’t that kinda weird?” He rested his head on the couch, eyebrows knit in thought. _If it’s such a natural thing, how come he never did that with me?_

“I’m not sure. I wouldn’t look too far into it, because now I know France is just really perverted.” Canada's whisper of a voice still managed to betray his shame of being so naive and innocent back then. Romano nodded vigorously in agreement. 

“And that Spanish idiot is the same way. He never even made excuses, he would just lay one right on my lips and say that he loves me.” The Italian’s disgust at the thought lay apparent in his expression. America relented and allowed their conversation to move on to other weird or interesting things. Romano eventually asked something like “What the fuck is that thing?”, pointed to Kumajirou, of whom was sitting pristinely in Canada’s lap, and that was their new topic of interest. The rambunctious blond let the two interact as he continued to brood over his new problem. 

Even if Canada and Romano’s caretakers were perverts, and America had heard about the Bad Touch Trio’s reputation so he knew this quiet well, it still bothered him. Kissing was a way to show affection and love. Did that mean England didn’t actually love him? He used to hug and cradle him to sleep, but that was more than centuries ago when America was tiny. It felt stupid to be stuck thinking about it, so he tuned himself back into what the others were saying for the time being. 

Later that week, America and England met up in the conference room where most of the allied meetings had taken place during World War 2. Now it rarely saw much of anything at all. They were passing the time before a world meeting took place in the next room over, and America listened to England rattle on and on about how his cooking had “improved” and how he would make him something the next time he visited. America slumped in his seat, head held up by his hand, and as usual his brother’s posture was more gentleman-like. He stopped talking to sip his cup of tea, which Lithuania had prepared along with coffee for his fellow nations. 

“Why have you never kissed me before?” The Brit immediately spit out his tea, coughing as he choked on what he’d been in the middle of swallowing. After a few long moments of England coughing, he wiped himself down with a napkin and managed to somewhat breathe again. 

“What the hell kind of question is that, America?” He managed to get out, throat still burning slightly. America didn't blink. 

“I think it’s a good one.” He crossed his arms defensively, “Romano and Canada said their brothers kissed them all the time when they were little. How come you never did that with me?” After a moment England let out a sigh, which almost sounded like one of relief, and he cleared his throat. 

“It’s just… something I don’t do. Spain and France are known for their overly affectionate ways, and I’m simply not like them. It’s not a proper way to act.” America couldn’t help but notice his brother’s pretentious attitude and frowned. 

“Man,” America said quietly, “I feel like I missed out on part of my childhood.” He scratched the back of his head, feeling down. England glanced from his twiddling fingers to his clearly unhappy brother. It felt kind of bad for the Brit to see his brother moping over what he had thought was insignificant. After a few more seconds of silence, he shook his head and huffed.

“Fine. Come here then.” America looked towards him in confusion, seeing England beckon insistently with one hand. The younger nation scooted his chair close, being too lazy to simply get up and move on his own, then folded both hands in his lap and waited, watching England intently. His brother gently tilted America’s head to the side and had to mentally prepare himself. He thought over his plan of action with hesitance, unsure of what he was doing. This kind of thing was more than embarrassing for the British country, but America seemed genuinely upset and he just couldn't bear that. England’s heart beat faster as America’s scent reached him. He wasn’t used to doing such a foreign thing as kissing and definitely not with his object of affection. It was a kiss on the cheek to show his brother that he cares, meaning there was nothing to worry about, right? Right. He just had to get it over with. The nation leaned forward.

“What’s taking you so long du-” America’s words were cut off as he unexpectedly turned his head back and met England’s lips with his. For a long second, the two were frozen in place, America by the unfamiliar sensation and England by pure shock. The Brit finally leapt back into his chair, face redder than an angry Romano, hand slapped over his mouth. 

“W-w-why did you do that?!” His usually pale complexion a shade darker of red as the embarrassment seized him. America observed the rather colorful reaction before his radiant smile returned, wider than ever. It was an accident, but America realized he wasn’t about to apologize for it. Instead he wrapped his arms around his brother, who fought to push away, and giggled stupidly.

“Thanks Britain.” England unwillingly ceased his fruitless struggles to look up at America, eyebrows creased with concern and was convinced he’d really screwed up. “Now it’s my turn!” Before England could react with more than a simple sound of surprise, the American tipped the shorter country’s head slightly and placed their lips gently back together. Now that he was prepared, the younger one pulled England's body closer to his and quickly brought a heated passion into the kiss. The British nation did not reciprocate, but melted into his hold nevertheless. Both hearts were pounding and each second that past was a step closer to the edge. But they finally separated, and England panted quietly as if his breath had been taken away, eyes half-lidded. 

“W-wanker.”

\---

BOSTON TEA PARTY

America approaches his big brother, of whom reads over his paperwork thoroughly at the table of his study; there cannot be any mistakes in his documents. The younger of the two reaches the table, but Britain doesn’t notice him yet, so America sets his plan into motion. Eyes glued to his papers, England picks up his cup of tea, pulling it up to his lips and this is when his brother strikes. The boy musters up as much courage as he’s ever going to manage and smacks the cup out of the nation’s hand in one swift movement.

“W-what the bloody hell?!” Britain jumps at the unexpected splash of hot liquid now running down his shirt.

“No taxation without representation!” America yells loudly and immediately turns on his heels to run. The boy’s eyes widen and he starts screaming when a chair clatters to the floor and the footsteps of a confused, angry Brit can be heard hot on his trail.


	2. PruMano

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The antics of Romano and Prussia being roommates and terrorizing their little brothers.

FIRST MEETINGS

Romano huffed again as he reached the front door and allowed Italy to knock repeatedly. After about the fifteenth time, Romano smacked his hand away.

“Jesus, three is enough.” He set down his suitcase for a moment as they waited. It wasn’t like he had a choice other than to move in with his brother and the potato bastard. What really grated his nerves, was the fact that now he had to deal with more than one potato bastard. Part of the deal in allowing Romano to move in with them, was to share a room with Germany’s big brother Prussia. He didn’t know who the fuck that was, but “Prussia” would learn to stay out of his way soon enough.

Germany finally opened the door and within a second, Italy proclaimed “HUG!” and latched onto the buff blond nation. After spotting Romano, the German promptly removed Italy from him and stepped back to allow the brothers to enter.

“About fucking time.” Romano snatched the suitcase back up and strode into the living space. He spotted a man with snow white hair and a piercing red gaze, his lips curled up in a small grin. Figuring him to be Prussia, Romano thanked the god above that he looked nothing like Germany. He moved further in the room to introduce himself to his roommate, until he heard the thundering of what sounded like very large creatures stomping around upstairs.

“Oops, uh Romano I forgot to tell you,” The confused Italian swiveled his head to meet his little brother’s gaze, “Germany has dogs.” Panic gripped South Italy when the footsteps, or pawsteps, made their way down the stairs.

“Why the FUCK didn’t you tell me that earlier you fucking moron?!” He yelled. Before he could get too upset, the big dogs were running full speed down the hallway and were soon upon him. Letting out a very manly cry, Romano charged towards the new German nation and swung around to hide behind his sturdy back, the albino starting to cackle at him.

“Aw, afraid of the little canines?” He continued to laugh until Romano suddenly yelped and jumped onto Prussia’s back, legs secured to the nation’s waist and arms wrapped around his neck haphazardly.

“W-whatever, just get the mutts away from me dammit!” Despite the Italian’s anger, Prussia couldn’t help but giggle madly. This didn’t go so well with Romano of course, who struggled to hold on to a shaking German.

“I swear to god if you don’t stop fucking laughing at me I will end your life.” Being careful to remain steady even with the extra weight at his back, Prussia encouraged the dogs to wander off towards Italy instead.

When his new roommate responded, his tone was one of amusement. “Nice to meet you too.”

\---

A DAY AT THE STORE

It was grocery shopping day for the shared German-Italian household. Why Romano had been forced to go, he had no idea. All he wanted to do was go home and take a nap. Currently, though, the four nations entered their usual market and Germany seized a cart. Italy hung at his side and chatted away while the two older brothers followed behind. Man, it was so boring. What’s so fun about shopping if it doesn’t involve authentic Italian leather clothing? Prussia nudged Romano roughly, causing the Italian to hiss in annoyance.

“What do you want, dammit?” Despite his tone, Prussia’s grin was not deterred.

“Let’s leave these lovebirds to the shopping and go do something. This is so lame.” Ordinarily Romano would have argued for the sake of arguing, but seeing that potato bastard and his little brother fawn over each other all the time was so damned irritating. He needed to get away for a bit.

Meanwhile, said lovebirds went on their way, going back and forth about what they would want to fix for dinner that night and what other things they needed. It didn’t take them long to figure out they were missing an obnoxious albino and angry tomato of a brother, but Italy convinced Germany not to worry about it. They were allowed to wander off by themselves after all.

Hardly ten minutes later, the couple found themselves arguing over whether Italy could make cannolis for dessert for the fourth time that week. Well, more of the Italian begging with tears in his eyes and his German lover pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation.

Suddenly, there was a loud commotion that caused both nations to simultaneously turn their heads to the end of the aisle. Romano blurred by in a shopping cart, holding onto the edges of his transportation with a death grip and screaming at the top of his lungs. Before either of them could grasp what just happened, Prussia sprinted by in hot pursuit, yelling every swear word he had in his mental dictionary.

Germany was the first one to come to his senses. “What the fuck?”

\---

WAKE UP CALLS

Romano’s first night in the new place wasn’t so bad. The morning, however, turned out to be a different story.

Romano’s ears were violently assaulted with loud, irritating music. Blinking his bleary eyes clear of sleep, he was quick to sit up and bring a hand to clutch at his head. The Italian’s gaze sharply turned to glare down at Prussia’s still dead-asleep form. The German’s alarm was going off, so why did it have to wake him instead?

“Hey, bastard! What did I tell you about obnoxious ringtones?” He roughly pushed at the nation’s shoulder until he received a reaction.

“Ugghhh. Hey, can’t you let a man sleep?” His face nuzzled deep into his pillow, back turned to Romano.

“I swear to God, if you don’t turn off that damn phone you will find yourself with a worse problem than interrupted sleep.” At this, Prussia raised and turned his head, red hues finding dark hazel.

“You’re an angry little thing, aren’t you?” A pale arm reached out from the safety of the covers to his phone. Finally, the annoying sound stopped, and Prussia shifted in his covers to fully face the roommate/bedmate. A smirk played on his lips at the Italian’s reddening face. “I take it you’re not a morning person… Does this mean I don’t get a good morning kiss?"

Romano punched him in the stomach.

-

The second morning wasn’t much better. Romano couldn’t believe his ears when Prussia’s alarm went off, three times more annoying than the previous morning. The Italian had no time to so much as move before the white-haired nation jumped on top of him. He realized the idiot was holding him down, hips straddling his stomach and hands pressing his wrists into the bed. Naturally, Romano became angry very quickly.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, dammit?!” He yelled, attempting to thrash around. Prussia’s shit-eating expression became more pronounced.

“Haha, now you have to sit here and listen to my horrible music!” His thick German accent made him that much more unbearable. Romano’s glaring eyes bore up at him dangerously.

“I’m. Going. To. Kick. Your. Ass!” He struggled and pushed against the stronger force with every word he spat out. Prussia’s red eyes glittered mischievously.

“Okay, but you’ll have to catch me first!”

“What-,“ the German rolled off of Romano and the bed, snatching his phone up in a flash and waving it at him, the song looping. He beckoned the Italian challengingly with his other hand. Romano was not one to back down from a challenge, even if it was simple provocation from an idiot.

Downstairs, Germany and Italy were almost done preparing breakfast. The food was simple but cooking with each other felt relaxing and homely. Yelling accompanied by thundering footsteps alerted them to the inevitable noisy awakening of their brothers.

“Uh oh.” Italy had no time to say more. Clambering thuds echoed across the hall from the stairs and both realized a shitstorm was upon them.

“Oh Scheiße, WEST HELP.” There was a flash of white as Prussia tore down the hallway and through the living room, a deafening tune blaring from his phone. Romano followed suite, just as fast.

“IF YOU DON’T MAKE IT STOP RIGHT NOW SO HELP ME I’LL SHOVE THAT PHONE DOWN YOUR THROAT.” Romano screeched in passing. He almost had him. Racing into the next room, the Italian launched himself at Prussia and tackled him to the floor with a painful thump. The German twisted around under Romano and held the phone out of his reach. Even with his slightly terrifying roommate’s weight pressing into him, Prussia still found plenty amusement in making him angry.

A Cheshire grin plastered on his features, he clicked the sound off on his phone, silence suddenly ringing throughout the room. Romano stopped fruitlessly reaching for the device in favor of scowling down at his roommate.

“Was that so fucking hard for you to do?” He asked. Romano was about to remind him about kicking his ass when someone cleared their throat. Both heads turned to see Germany standing in the doorway with Italy, who watched them curiously.

“Ve~ brother, I didn’t think you’d make a move so quickly!” Italy’s cheery tone froze Romano in place. His head quickly whirled back to Prussia and realized: His entire body lay flush against the nation, hands firmly resting near either side of the German’s head to hold himself up.

Prussia would have laughed but knew the result was injury. He instead held back and stared as the Italian shot up into the air with a quickness he hadn’t yet seen before.

“You listen here, Veneziano!…” Conversation and threats melded into the background while Prussia slowly sat up and observed the other three. He finally decided that living with this new nation would be a hell of a fun, if also violent, time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can't tell me that Romano and Prussia wouldn't be like this. They're monsters.


	3. HRE/Ita GerIta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The red string of fate- In which two souls destined to be together are joined by a red string, each end attached to their pinky fingers. The string can tangle, stretch, or contract, but will never break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this but had no idea what to do with it so I'm just gonna leave this here.

THE RED STRING OF FATE

The child watched it for many years, a scarlet twine tied around his pinky finger that led into the horizon. Italy couldn’t recall the first time seeing it, as if it had been there always and had one day simply been noticed. He tried to ask Hungary and Austria about it, but the two exchanged concerned glances and insisted nothing was there. Being the rather carefree spirit he was, the boy accepted this and was content in knowing only he could see it.

It did the strangest things; tightening up, loosening, tangling, but never snapping. The movement was as if the other end of the thread was connected to something alive and mobile. The day he figured it out was the day he met Holy Roman Empire. The string had bounced as if someone was gently tugging on it and suddenly, Italy spotted it. The other end of his string was wrapped securely around this blonde boy’s pinky finger. Although he scared Italy with the heat of his glare, Holy Rome was kind to him. Italy did not mention the string, observing that the boy’s blue-eyed gaze never once swept over it in recognition.

The two spent a great deal of time together. Italy taught him to paint and enjoy the beauty of nature, and Holy Rome answered any of Italy’s inquiries no matter how trivial or silly they seemed. The boy in black was head over heels for Italy, this innocent child in the green dress had captivated him. Although neither of them quite understood such strong feelings, the pounding in both of their hearts and thoughts of each other were genuine. Soon, their secret connection became Italy’s comfort and he’d declared to himself that it meant they would always return to each other.

So when Holy Rome had to go away, Italy felt his chest ache. The pain seared deeply and frightened the boy, who held tightly onto his friend. The boy in black comforted him, wiping away the tears and leaving a gentle kiss on his lips to remind him he would return to Italy once the fighting had ended. While Holy Rome kept his beloved’s push broom, the child in green remembered the kiss and watched their crimson string extend. It stretched further and further as the distance between them grew. Italy stayed confident in knowing that even if Holy Rome ran into trouble, the red string would help his friend find him again.

One day, however, something alarming occurred. Italy was painting the setting sun, alluring rays of orange and yellow contrasting the darkening blue sky. He dropped his brush upon feeling a sharp tug from the thread around his finger. The boy stared as it violently shook and pulled again, making Italy think he may be jerked forward by it. The string pulled tight and he could nearly hear the fabric stretch to its limit. For once, he feared it would actually snap, but could do nothing to stop it. Then, it abruptly slackened and hit the ground, not moving again no matter how long he watched. Although Italy couldn’t put its implications into comprehensible words, he began to cry.

\---

Italy had long stopped asking about Holy Rome. He cleaned for Austria, baked with Hungary, and spent most of his free time out in the fresh air, painting or drawing. In these moments, his mind always wandered to memories of the boy in black. The red string remained still, but Italy asserted that as long as it stayed, his Holy Rome would still find him one day no matter what.

On one of the days he spent sweeping around the house, Italy sang softly to himself. The boy broke off when something caught his attention. The red string, having not moved in a longer time than Italy cared to think about, shifted. He was about to turn away when it jumped again and began to pull lightly up from the floor. The boy blinked, not sure if he was seeing it correctly, but there was no doubt. He tipped his head to the side.

_Holy… Rome?_

\---

Italy grew over the centuries and even his voice finally deepened. Although he wasn’t a very tall man, Italy was prideful in how much he had grown and changed. Other things changed as well and he was no longer under Austria’s rule. Italy could run his own country alongside his big brother now, and his future was looking brightly enough. His childhood friend had faded from his mind, though not completely. Italy could never fully forget Holy Rome, and despite what he told Romano, he was still waiting. The grown nation wasn’t able to follow the string anywhere, and despite how much it moved, bounced, or stretched, there was no sign of the other end.

The time was World War 1 and Italy was thrown into battle. Being fearful of combat, the country held onto his white flag and tucked himself away in a tomato box. Italy hoped no one would find him and beat him up again, he was growing tired of the routine.

He lay perfectly still, until something familiar happened. The string bounced and tightened as though someone was tugging gently at it. The Italian shifted and watched it more closely and wondered. Then there was a tap on the box and Italy was sent into a panic, rambling on about being a tomato fairy and wanting whoever was outside to go away. However, the person was determined and decided to pry the box open using sheer strength. The sealed box splintered wide open. He stood straight up, ready to beg for his life. Through Italy’s cowardly tears, the face he met with shocked him to the core. The same brilliant blue eyes and slicked back blonde hair. The same facial structure he’d studied centuries ago.

Despite a different light burning in the cold eyes set upon him, Italy couldn’t stop himself from noticing there was a red string around the tall country’s pinky finger, and it led straight back to him.

_… You found me._


End file.
